


Luckily I can read your mind

by kenmaken



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Childhood Friends, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Iwaizumi worships Godzilla and Oikawa is an alien nerd, M/M, Oikawa Tooru Is Not a Morning Person, Rated T because Hajime likes to curse, The media loves Oikawa, and Oikawa loves Iwaizumi, but he knows how to bake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-08-30 14:46:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8537185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kenmaken/pseuds/kenmaken
Summary: Oikawa Tooru is the media's wet dream—he's always pretty in the pictures they take of him, answers their questions with a smile and takes photos with his fans—until he's not, but just a little bit, and it's only because he absolutely refuses to talk about his romantic life with them.
(or: Tooru wants to be a known volley player and Hajime is studying to be his physical therapist. Tooru likes to snuggle against Hajime's side and Iwaizumi loves hotpot with agedashi tofu.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> ***insert disclaimer here***   
>  _AAA I’m so fucking tired. I’ve been working on this thing for two months and it drained at least ten years of my life, lmao. Also, it wasn’t supposed to be this long_
>
>>   
>  **tw: lil mention to depression but nothing serious; references to Oikawa’s knee injury; also, I tried to be funny idk.**   
> 

“Iwa-chan,” Tooru mumbles idly, tightening his grasp on Hajime’s hand, brown eyes focused on the road. The air is chilly and Tooru suddenly remembers that he left his gloves at home, along with his scarf. _Dammit_. “Are you going to stay with me forever?” The autumn is still there, so the morning goes slowly, and goes even slower when they walk together to the school at six thirty am.

“Yeah,” Hajime answers instantly, bag slung over his shoulder, and Tooru hums, pleased. Hajime looks through him like he’s made of crystal and Tooru, being the selfish person he is, loves it all. “I’ve putting up with your shit since we met and I’m not planning on leaving that to someone else.”

“Is it jealously what I hear in your voice, Iwa-chan?” Tooru quirks his eyebrows, just for the sole purpose of making Iwaizumi laugh, which he does.

The breeze blows him in the face and Tooru has to move a few strands of brown hair from his face, smiling sheepishly when he notices Hajime staring at him.

“Yep, I’m jealous,” Hajime says, bluntly as always, and Tooru feels his ears turn red. He gets lots of praising; however, Hajime’s compliments never fail at flustering him.

“Iwa-chan, it’s too early!” _To embarrass Tooru_ , that is. So he complains loudly enough to piss off Hajime, but not to piss off the neighbors, a pout in his lips and a crease between his eyebrows.

Hajime rolls his eyes, already knowing that he isn’t being serious, and intertwines his fingers with Tooru’s.

“No, it’s not.” Iwaizumi clicks his tongue against his teeth and a brief silence fills the space between them. It’s comfortable and nice. Also familiar; he remembers having those silences when he played with Iwaizumi at the park when they were younger.

It doesn’t last too long because Tooru clears his throat, preparing himself to talk again.

“Anyways, Iwa-chan, are you nervous? Physical therapy isn’t easy at all!” Tooru exclaims, briefly realizing that he’s been smiling the whole time and turning his head to see his best friend. They’re getting closer to the school, but they don’t stop the handholding.

“You say it like yours is the easiest piece of shit on the world,” Hajime snarls, frowning. “Just imagine it: a professional volley player, who’s also a mechanical engineer _and_ an alien-obsessed nerd. Totally impressive.”

“Iwa-chan, was that sarcasm?”

“Absolutely _yes_.”

“Iwa-chan, so mean! Stop hanging out with Makki and Mattsun!”

The birds are now singing from the trees and the students start to appear in bigger groups. Some of them give them weird looks (mostly girls that were rejected by Tooru in the past with a perky: 'You’re so boring! I can’t talk to you about volleyball!' or, most recently, an 'I’m dating Iwa-chan, sorry!'), while others blatantly ignore them, familiar with their dynamics (Kyoutani doesn’t even look at them and Yahaba covers his laugh with the hand that isn’t clutching Kyoutani’s jersey).

“But yeah, I’ll stay with you,” Hajime continues, eyes fixed on their friends waving at them from the school gates. Hanamaki grins lazily, with Matsukawa following him close, looking like he’s trying hard to not fall asleep. “I’m gonna study for that after all. Someone has to stop you from being a reckless disaster.”

Tooru is speechless for a moment, surprised by Iwaizumi’s sincerity and, really, he doesn’t know what he was expecting.

Hajime doesn’t have any problem with saying the truth in his face.

Then, with a smirk forming in his lips, he replies: “Thanks, Iwa-chan,” Tooru mumbles, almost a whisper that catches Hajime’s attention instantly, “for showing me that you know more words apart from 'idiot' and 'asshole'!”

The punch he receives in his arm, despite it hurt a lot, is totally worth it.

* * *

“I’m pretty sure this is the last one,” Tooru frowns, holding a box in his arms. It has 'Shittykawa’s shitty trophies' written on one of its sides, so Oikawa doesn’t need to be a genius to know that Hajime was the one who packaged it. Tooru narrows his eyes at Hajime, trying to throw his best mean-look, (and failing in the process). “That isn’t nice at all, Iwa-chan.”

Hajime only shrugs, deciding to not pay attention to Tooru’s pouts and closing the trunk of the blue car he borrowed from his sister that morning.

“I just say the truth,” he answers, stretching his arms, and Tooru snorts.

“You always were the first one congratulating me when I won each one of them, though,” Tooru says, laughing, and (sadly) he’s right.

Hajime always made sure of celebrating with Tooru his victories watching alien films, and he resists the temptation of jabbing him in the ribs. Tooru is a pain in the ass when he gets smug.

He’s known that for a really long time.

“I hope you two come to visit soon.” Oikawa-san, Tooru’s mom, smiles softly from the door, drying her hands with the apron, and Hajime gulps at the same time Tooru lets out a whine.

(“ _If you don’t visit me, I swear to God I’ll go to Tokyo to choke you both with homemade food._ ” That was the implicit message.)

Later, after saying their goodbyes and assuring to Oikawa-san that they’d visit soon, Hajime and Tooru get inside the car, sighing.

At least, Hajime’s mom isn’t so _straightforward_ with her petitions. She’s a little bit nicer.

Hajime grips the steering wheel and Tooru giggles on the passenger’s seat, looking way too happy for someone who’s leaving their parents’ house.

“We’re going to live together, Iwa-chan,” Tooru snickers, resting his head on Hajime’s shoulder and Iwaizumi places his hand on it, caressing the hair that’s still soft despite it hasn’t been touched by a brush in three days.

“Yeah.”

“This is so _cool_.”

“Hmhm.”

“I wonder if we can get a pup—”

“No. And if you make a mess in our apartment, I’ll kick you out.”

“ _Our_ apartment, that sounds so cute! I love it!”

“Shut up.”

“Oka—Iwa-chan put down that hand! Ow! _Iwa-chaaan!_ ”

* * *

Tooru opens his eyes slowly, suddenly struck with the absence of his personal body heater.

Rubbing his eyes with his knuckles, he sits and gets off from the bed and its warmness as he drags one of the sheets with him.

He sees the clock on the wall by the corner of his eye while he adjusts his socks (the wooden floor is too cold and he doesn’t like the flip-flops Hajime loves to use) and groans.

It’s barely six am.

Tooru doesn’t understand Hajime fixation with waking up early, before the sun rises and the office men start to run to their jobs.

By the time he arrives to the kitchen, wrapped in the blanket and with his hair completely disheveled (he looked himself in the mirror and he was _horrified_ ), Hajime is cooking breakfast, perhaps to take a bento with him and leave another for Tooru, who usually wakes up around eight am on his free days.

 _Usually_.

“Iwa-chan!” he whines and Hajime immediately turns around. It’s probably a natural reaction—a reflex—after all these years knowing each other.

Iwaizumi frowns, placing the pan in his hand on the counter.

“What the fuck are ya’ doin’ ‘wake?” Hajime asks, crossing his arms. _He’s already dressed_ , Tooru notices walking towards Iwaizumi.

Hajime also has on the t-shirt Tooru gifted him last year for his birthday; (the one with alien emojis printed all over the fabric and Iwaizumi straightforwardly said he hated it).

“You weren’t with me, Iwa-chan,” Tooru complains, hugging his boyfriend. Hajime returns the hug and Tooru nuzzles against the cloth of the shirt, knowing that he’s making Iwaizumi smile.

Hajime’s heartbeat is constant and Tooru feels himself get relaxed to the point he’s almost asleep again.

It surprises Tooru to no end that this guy, who was the arm wrestling champion in Aoba Johsai for three years straight, never fails at making Tooru feel like he’s at home.

Then Hajime flicks him on the forehead and the moment is fucking _gone_.

“ _Iwa-chaaaaan!_ ”

“If ya’ gonna stay, sit.”  And Tooru complies, but just because it’s too early to have a playful argument with Iwaizumi.

Hajime is more prone to punch him during the mornings and he doesn’t want to show a bruise at the university.

Tooru rests his head on top of his folded arms, which are covered by a sweater that’s too big for him (maybe Hajime’s, Tooru isn’t sure), and stares at his boyfriend, who just resumed his cooking.

He loves it when Iwa-chan talks with his accent without meaning to, the same way he loves to see Hajime’s muscles flexing under the t-shirt.

With a humming sound he decides that it was a really wise decision to buy that shirt. Or maybe not, because it means that other people can see how gorgeous and pretty _his_ Iwa-chan is and they’ll try to take him away from Tooru’s hands and—Iwaizumi could be an amazing heartbreaker, now that Tooru thinks about it.

“Ya’ can wax poetry ‘bout my muscles later, Crappykawa,” Hajime talks, turning around and placing a bento box on the counter. _Heh, so Tooru’s been saying all of that out loud, oops._ “And, for the matter, I’d be a shitty heartbreaker. I’m too in love with an idiot to do that.”

Oikawa flushes and hears Hajime snort as he takes his backpack with a hand, leaning over Tooru to ruffle his hair; it’s a small gesture, but Tooru melts a bit anyway.

“Love ya’, Tooru,” Hajime kisses him softly, laughing when Tooru groans and hides in the crook of Hajime’s neck.

“Love you too, Hajime,” Tooru murmurs, loud enough to be listened, and Iwaizumi snickers, taking the bento with him before walking towards the exit of the apartment. “Good luck with your test, Iwa-chan!”

“Thanks.” And he closes the door behind him.

* * *

College is surprisingly easier than what Hajime thought from the beginning—he kinda understands now why Oikawa-neesan laughed when Hajime asked why she wasn’t studying.

This time, Tooru walks with him through Tokyo’s streets, both of them surrounded by snow and people rushing to their homes, and he’s complaining about how Kuroo is the biggest pain in the ass he’s had since Tobio and that he doesn’t understand how he entered to TouDai.

“Hey, Hajime!” Hanamaki grins, leaning against the front wall of the restaurant where they meet every Tuesday, hands stuffed inside the pockets of his jacket and a scarf wrapped sloppily around his neck. “And Oikawa, too.”

Now, instead of cursing Kuroo, Tooru mumbles that he’s 'more important and prettier than Iwa-chan', hence, he should be greeted first.

Hajime huffs, deciding to ignore his boyfriend, and slips his arm around Tooru’s waist, effectively shutting him up.

“Yo’, ‘Maki,” Hajime greets, sighing. He’s been invited by his classmates to a lot of parties, but he prefers to hang out with Matsukawa, Hanamaki and Tooru.

It reminds him of how they used to buy ice creams, cream puffs and milk breads together after school.

“You took forever to come,” Matsukawa, already sit in front of the table with a menu in his hands, says, barely eyeing at them.

“Don’t blame me, I’m innocent,” Hanamaki takes the empty sit besides Matsukawa, while the other two plop on the other side, enjoying the warmness of the shop.

“I’ve been here for twenty three minutes,” Matsukawa lets out, with his sleepy eyes checking the menu probably for the hundredth time. Iwaizumi laughs.

“Mattsun, don’t ya’ study? Don’t ya’ work?” Hanamaki grunts, placing his chin on top of his open hand.

Matsukawa’s fingers tap the wood as he thinks of an answer.

“I do, do you?”

“ _Du-uh_ ,” Takahiro sing songs, giving Issei a sluggish smile. Hajime notices by the corner of his eye that Tooru is checking his phone. “Otherwise, who’d buy me cream puffs?”

“You haven’t bought cream puffs since second year.”

“Fuck off.”

“I’m done with embarrassin’ you, Makki. Let’ talk ‘bout our brand new TouDai captain.”

And Tooru, who was busy playing a game about cats (he even has it installed in Hajime’s phone), seems to brighten with that comment.

“I’m so excited!” Tooru chirps, grasping the edges of the table with his hands.

Those hands are full with band-aids, which cover the few bruises and scratches that Hajime took care of earlier in the morning.

“—Then the coach said: 'Oikawa-kun, you’ll be our next captain. We expect a lot of things from you'.” Hajime has heard the story at least six times by now, but he listens how Oikawa drops his voice a few notes to mimic’s the coach’s _again_. “You can’t imagine my surprise—”

“I think I can,” Matsukawa interrupts, a lazy smirk in his lips as he thanks the waitress for bringing the food to the table. “I bet you were going to cry,” he snickers and Hanamaki lets out wheezing laugh. Hajime (always the mature one) hands a pair of chopsticks to Tooru, takes another for himself and starts to eat.

“Stop being jealous, Mattsun!” Tooru exclaims, snatching a piece of meat from Iwaizumi’s pot in a fast motion. Hajime doesn’t stop him; Tooru always finds a way to steal his food. “After all, not everyone has my luck!”

“I may not have your looks and I may not be the captain of the volley team in TouDai, but I have Makki and Makki does the best milk bread in the _world_.”

“Lies!” Tooru accuses instantly, pointing at Matsukawa with his finger and clutching tightly Hajime’s hand. Iwaizumi grits his teeth together.

He understands. Tooru wants Hajime to support him.

Right now, while he’s eating agedashi tofu.

_What a wonderful timing._

“He’s right. My mom makes the best milk bread.” That’s what he says, features softening slightly as soon as Tooru sticks his tongue at the couple in front of them.

* * *

If there’s something Tooru loves apart from volleyball, Hajime and his mother (which are literally on the same level, there’s no difference in-between), it is visiting Hajime’s mom.

She’s nice and kind—she also smells like strawberries covered in chocolate. She also always makes sure of having milk bread in the fridge and used to allow him to enter to Hajime’s room anytime.

“Iwaizumi-san, with all respect, I don’t understand how a lovely person like you has a son like Iwa-chan,” Tooru says, as serious as one can be eating a spoonful of cake, sitting with his bent knees under a table that once was too big for him.

He looks like a freaking giant.

There’s a dog barking outside of the house, in the garden beautifully decorated with flowers and bushes, and Tooru can easily imagine Godo—Hajime’s dog—playing and making his owner laugh.

Meanwhile, Iwaizumi-san smiles as she ties her brown hair in a bun. It must be a free day at the bakery she owns along with her husband, and Tooru appreciates the gesture.

Not everyone makes a space in their agendas to receive their son’s boyfriend.

“Hajime _is_ lovely, though,” she says, pouring coffee in a mug with volleyballs painted on it. Tooru remembers that Hajime used that cup a lot to drink hot chocolate. “And I’m pretty sure you know it.”

“Iwa-chan is mostly violence and bad words!”

“He _does_ have a potty mouth indeed!” Iwaizumi-san exclaims, laughing and sipping the contents of the mug. The windows are open, letting the summer breeze in. “But he loves you a lot.”

Tooru feels himself blush and frowns, resting his elbows on the table. Despite his embarrassment, he takes another bite of cake.

He’s been eating it for years by now and he still doesn’t comprehend how she does it so delicious.

“Yeah, Iwaizumi-san, I know,” he mutters, pouting. “Do you have another story about Iwa-chan I haven’t listened to yet?”

“I always have!” Hajime’s mother smirks, taking a chair and sitting in front of Tooru. He adores her stories since he was little. “Okay, listen. When you were going to have your first valentine’s day together, Hajime had no idea of what to do and got so stressed that he took the volley ball and smashed it against the wall. It _broke_ , and since you were coming, we covered it with one of his sis’ posters.”

“I didn’t notice!” Tooru giggles, covering his face with his hands. He can’t stop laughing and, if Hajime decides to enter right now, he’ll get punched. “I was too excited with his gift…”

“He gave you an album, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, it’s full with our photos. I still treasure it.”

“I’m sure of that.” Her face relaxes and Tooru’s eyes wander around the kitchen. In one of the walls there are drawings of Hajime’s little sister and another one is decorated with pictures of the family. Godo has stopped barking. “Want some hot chocolate, Tooru?”

 “Yes, please.”

* * *

“This is nice,” Tooru says softly, with his arm brushing Hajime’s every few seconds. His hands are pocketed in his sweatpants; his brown hair is a mess; the purple sweater is at least three sizes bigger; and the flip flops make noise against the concrete of the street.

Hajime loves it all and hums, grasping Godo’s leash with calm and carefulness as the dog continues to sniff a rock, like he’s been doing for the past five minutes.

Godo’s a weird dog and his name is even weirder, but Hajime was young when his sister came home with a puppy in her arms, and didn’t know how to control his obsession towards Godzilla.

“Do ya’ have the knee s’pporter?” he asks, lifting one of his eyebrows a bit (he wishes he could quirk his eyebrow a little more, like in the movies. Sadly, he can’t).

“Yea’,” Tooru mumbles, voice low and words slurred due to the sleepiness. Hajime sighs; Tooru never sleeps past five am when they’re traveling.

Hajime still remembers how he used to wake up before six to make Tooru some company during training camps. Back then it was only them, watching the sun rising slowly with volleyballs in their hands.

It’s a habit that stayed with him, despite everything.

“Does it hurt?”

“Nah.”

“‘Kay.”

“I’ve go’ a gift for ya’, Iwa-chan,” Tooru mutters after a few minutes, now leaning on Hajime’s shoulder to snuggle against the fabric of his hoodie; he has to bent over to do it and Hajime frowns, because he isn’t as tall as he’d like to be.

Tooru always says that he loves it when Hajime talks with his accent—Iwaizumi only slips into it when he’s with his family or Tooru—, but he thinks that Tooru’s sleepy voice is a thousand times better.

“Really?”

“Yup.”

“What’s it?”

“A collection of med books.”

“What.”

“Suga helped, though.”

“Those are expensive as hell!”

“Sorry, Iwa-chan. No devolutions.”

And Hajime groans, face flushing slowly.

The breeze moves his shorts.

Godo is pooping.

His mom is probably wondering where they are and if they already packed up their things, (which they did, thanks to Hajime’s firmness).

“Whatever, that ain’t my problem.”

“Glad ya’ liked it!”

“ _Die_.”

* * *

“Um, Iwa-chan, my phone is ringing!” Tooru peeks from behind the door of the kitchen, glasses slipping slightly down the bridge of his nose and hands covered in flour. Hajime shoots him a deadpanned look, lying down on the couch with the remote control in his hand. “Would you please answer it?”

Tooru is sure that if Hajime could cook sweet food he would be the one answering his own phone. Sadly, Hajime is a disaster making baked goods despite his genes.

(And, being honest, Tooru hates cooking desserts too, but his mom is going to visit them tomorrow and he’s fucking scared of her.)

“Okay, whatever,” Hajime grunts, stretching his arm to grab the ringing phone from the coffee table. His fingers sweep the screen and he puts it besides his ear. Tooru is back to the kitchen and hears the conversation from there. “Hello, this is Oikawa Tooru’s phone, what do you want?”

“You sound like a secretary, Iwa-chan!” Tooru giggles, smiling widely as he opens the oven to put the tray full with cookies inside.

Iwa-chan would be the prettiest secretary of all time.

Hajime instantly snarls and Tooru tries to muffle his laugh while he washes his hands. Hajime likes to act like he’s the toughest guy around (which he is), but he’s a softie on the inside (when he isn’t angry with Tooru).

They called him 'team mom' for a reason.

Tooru hears Hajime speaking with the other person, humming softly to indicate that he’s paying attention, until the conversation seems to end and Hajime says, “hold on a moment, I’ll get him in a second.”

Needless to say that Tooru feels very confused.

Hajime pushes the kitchen’s door and Oikawa quirks his eyebrows, curiosity flowing through him like blood. Iwaizumi is _never_ like this.

“Iwa-chan?”

“They wanna talk with you. It’s a really serious business.” It’s the only answer Hajime gives, handing him the smartpone, and Tooru frowns.

“Okay, I guess?” he mutters, drying his hands on his shirt and taking the phone. It’s hard to keep calm when his boyfriend is looking at him so pokerfaced. “Hi, uh, this is Oikawa Tooru. Who’s calling?”

“Hello, we are from Japan’s Sport Association.” A man explains, voice sounding stupidly professional. His heart starts to beat faster and his palms promptly get sweaty. _Shit_ , he’s never been this nervous. “We are calling to announce you that you have been selected as a player for the national team of volleyball.”

 **_Fuck_ ** **.**

Tooru feels tears prickling his eyes.

“Is this true? Because if it’s some kind of jo—”

“We will send a mail with all the details later, and don’t worry about giving us with your data, your coach already did. We hope to hear of you soon, Oikawa-san.”

And the second after the man hangs up the call, Tooru is torn between bursting out crying and screaming his lungs out, so all his neighbors know too.

(At the end, he decides to do both and curls on the floor, crying and screaming things without any sense, and Hajime is _so_ confused, asking: 'Why the fuck are you crying, Asskawa? I thought those were good news!' every ten seconds.)

* * *

“I’m so tired, Iwa-chan!” Tooru complains loudly, plopping besides Hajime and curling against his chest, covering himself with the blankets in the process. The bed shrieks under his weight.

Hajime gets up a bit to see Oikawa and the sight makes a knot in his throat; there are bags under Tooru’s eyes and he looks more 'exhausted' than just 'tired'. Iwaizumi is also pretty sure that he has bruises under his clothes and probably his hands hurt as hell.

He’ll smother him tomorrow for being a reckless piece of shit. Hajime is going to yell and throw things and lock Oikawa inside the bedroom—but he’ll do that later. Now it’s late and the moon is shinning on the sky behind a few clouds.

“Only two years more, Tooru,” Hajime whispers, petting his boyfriend on the head and running his calloused fingers through his hair, (Tooru never styles it, not even when he has to go to the university).

And Tooru relaxes his muscles, letting out a long breath.

“Two years more,” Tooru repeats quietly, tucking his hands under Hajime’s t-shirt. They’re cold as fuck, but Hajime doesn’t voice his discomfort. “Gonna sleep, Iwa-chan.”

“Okay.” Hajime nods and Tooru gets even closer, placing himself against Iwaizumi’s side. He remembers Tooru doing the same when they were children having sleepovers and high schoolers going to training camps.

Hajime feels like _this_ —Tooru, hugging him like his life depends on it—is his home.

* * *

“Iwa-chan, I already told you! I’m okay. It doesn’t hurt,” he says, scowling as Hajime holds his knee between his hands. The match is already over and his teammates are probably drinking somewhere.

And he’s right here, sitting on the bed of his hotel room, instead of enjoying Rio with his beloved one by his side.

Like a totally normal person.

“Are you sure?” If Hajime weren’t Hajime, Tooru would say that he’s pouting, but Hajime never pouts and if Tooru says the opposite he’ll get punched. 

Tooru scoffs. “Yeah, Iwa-chan. It hurt for just a second. And we won! So, stop worrying.”

“Alright,” Hajime mutters, sighing and sitting next to Tooru on the fluffy bed, surely tired as fuck. He had been watching Tooru the whole game (Tooru saw him) and cheered anytime Japan scored (Tooru heard him), so it’s reasonable.

Tooru has to admit that recognizing Hajime, happy and proud, between a bunch of strangers that didn’t even know his name, was the most satisfying thing that happened to him since he was assigned as the vice-captain of the Olympic team.

“Iwa-chan, can you sleep with me?” Tooru asks, lying down on the bed and staring at Hajime with sleepy eyes.

Hajime hums, intertwining his hand with his boyfriend’s. He’s warm and familiar, and Tooru is glad that Hajime came with him.

“Is your coach okay with that?”

“Obviously, he loves you. He knows you won’t do sexy stuff with me.”

“I feel like I got your mom’s approval.” Hajime snorts and Tooru shakes his head.

“Everyone in my team loves you. They always ask: 'Oikawa-san, when are you bringing your boyfriend?' or 'Oikawa-san, did your boyfriend finish his career?'” Tooru mocks, high pitched voice and fluttery eyelashes, making Iwaizumi laugh.

“You’re exaggerating.”

“‘Course I’m not! They want to take you away from me and caress your super muscled arms—” Hajime jabs him in his ribs and Tooru recoils, coughing for a few seconds before saying, “I'm sorry, let’s go to the shower. I want to sleep and I’m sweaty.”

* * *

A week after their return from Rio (Tooru won a silver medal and even sleeping you can hear him cursing the Germans), Hajime decides that a week at home wouldn’t do any harm.

Being at home is always therapeutic for Oikawa when he loses a match.

So they take the train to Sendai and Tooru’s mom receives them with open arms as well as lots of warm, homemade food.

The next day, the clock reaches eight am and Tooru is still sleeping. Hajime is surprised as fuck.

“He must be really tired,” Oikawa-san mutters, taking out the last herbs from her garden. Hajime only hums, helping her with the labor.

Takeru, Tooru’s nephew, is playing with his toys a few meters away from them.

“He didn’t sleep at all during the flight,” Hajime says, raising his head to look at the woman, who takes off her gloves and smiles softly.

“You probably didn’t, either.” His boyfriend’s mother assures, thoughtfully, hands on her hips and eyes glistening playfully.

The kettle whistles loudly and the sound attracts their attention. She turns around, brown curls moving due to the sudden action, and enters to the house without worrying for a second about leaving the door open.

Hajime makes sure of closing it after he follows her.

“I wasn’t tired,” he lies, frowning, and hears her snort when she takes the tea cups from the cabinets.

“If you repeat it enough times, you’ll believe it.”

“Fuck, he was so worn-out he believed me right away, please don’t tell him.” Hajime sighs, running a hand through his spiky hair.

“I won’t! I swear it. Tooru is a little shit when you let him know that kind of things,” she giggles, placing a cup with steaming tea on the table and gesturing Hajime to sit.

It always marvels him how carelessly she talks about her son.

“Those weeks were the most stressful of my whole life,” Hajime says, sipping his tea calmly. Takeru’s laugh is the only thing that Hajime hears for a few seconds, until the woman speaks again.

“Sincerely, it would have been the same for me, if not because I knew you were with Tooru. I mean, without you, he’d probably get lost at the supermarket.”

“It’s okay. I've grown accustomed to this.”

“Yeah…” she exhales, grasping the ceramic tightly. “Hajime, would you promise me something?”

“What?”          

“Never leave Tooru’s side, please.”

“I wouldn’t, even if he asked me.” Hajime smiles and Tooru’s mom looks a lot more relieved.

“I’m glad. When—when you two weren’t dating and Tooru noticed he was in love with you, he got really depressed. I’m happy it turned out well for everyone.”

Oikawa-neesan is back from buying her magazines and throws her keys on the kitchen table before opening the fridge to take something to eat.

“I know, Oikawa-san. Don’t worry.”

“You’re so trustworthy, Hajime! Geez, I wish I’d have such a reliable son like you!”

Oikawa-neesan curses at this and Hajime laughs—Tooru’s mom is mean and talks a little bit more than necessary, but she worries a lot, and it’s Hajime’s job to take part of the weight that falls over her shoulders.

* * *

Exactly three weeks after his first Olympics (by now, Tooru has already placed all of his souvenirs from Rio in the house, pissing off Hajime in the process) people start to recognize him on the streets.

It’s not an army of paparazzi waiting for him outside of his apartment—he’s just shopping with Hajime at the supermarket, like every Wednesday, grabbing a carton of eggs, when a girl approaches slowly.

Hajime rolls his eyes, not bothering a single bit on hiding it, and goes away; probably to pick vegetables for the hotpot he decided he would cook at night.

“Um, you’re Oikawa Tooru-san, right?” she asks, twirling the ends of her hair with her fingers and flashing what’s maybe her best smile.

Tooru is silent for a moment, before his 'Media-Shitty-Face' (as Hajime kindly calls it) kicks in.

“Yeah! And you are…?”

“Mariko! I, uh, have seen a lot of your games and, um, I think you’re really cool!” The girl exclaims, blushing to the tip of her ears, and Oikawa holds back a sigh.

“Thank you! It’s always nice to meet a fan, though this is the first time someone recognizes me.”

“Really?!”

“Yup! Do you wanna take a picture with me?”

“That would be amazing!”

She takes a selfie with Tooru and goes away. Later, when Tooru checks the photo in his Instagram account, he cringes, looking at the caption 'Oikawa Tooru-san was buying eggs~~!' while Hajime is laughing on the couch of his misery.

* * *

Tooru is popular with the media (he’s been popular for years, since he started to use contacts and learnt that not everyone worships E.T); they call him charming and kind.

Hajime thinks he’s basically their wet dream.

Oikawa is always pretty in the pictures they take of him, answers their questions with a smile and takes photos with his fans.

He’s a magnet that attracts the attention of everyone: the media, the spectators, his own teammates (despite of his complains about how they love Hajime more) and every teenage girl that stumbles with his interviews online.

Thanks to that, the reporters don’t spy on his private life—at least, until this day, where Hajime is studying for his finals and the doorbell rings. He isn’t waiting for anyone; however, he stands up to answer the door.

“Hey,” he murmurs, frowning as he adjusts his sweatpants with a hand. He’s using one of Tooru’s sweaters (those that keep him warm no matter what; this one is pastel green, because he doesn’t like to use purple or pink, unlike Oikawa) and his own reading glasses.

It’s a woman of twenty-something—maybe more. Hajime is terrible at guessing ages—with a camera hanging from her neck and a smartphone in her hand.

She’s probably a reporter, but he holds the door close, just in case (who knows? Could be a psycho…)

“Is this Oikawa Tooru’s apartment?” she asks, seriousness in her voice, and Hajime blinks, surprised and a little taken back.

“Yeah, it is.”

“Who are you?” The reporter presses on and Hajime resists the temptation of snarling at her—Tooru’s reputation is important.

“His best friend, I’m just borrowing a few books.” If Hajime puts his mind on it, he can be a great liar; he’s a bit proud of himself for that.

And, honestly, it’s weird to say that he’s only Tooru’s best friend when Hajime has been his boyfriend since third year, but Tooru told him that he wants to keep the journalists away from Iwaizumi.

The woman raises her eyebrows, as well as her phone.

“Really?”

“Yup.”

“Books about what, exactly?” The reporter asks and Hajime purses his lips together.

“Med books. Oikawa has a gigantic collection and lets me study with them.”

* * *

(When Tooru checks the news the next day in the computer, with his messed up hair and a cup of hot coffee in his hand, he gives Hajime a deadpanned look, showing the 'exclusive' of the day: 'OIKAWA TOORU, PROFFESIONAL VOLLEYBALL PLAYER AND FRUSTRATED DOCTOR?! FIND OUT!!' occupying a big part of the website’s main page.

“What the fuck,” Hajime mumbles, frowning, and Oikawa scowls, cursing under his breath. “I only said you have a lot of medicine books! What the fuck?”

“Geez, I hate them.”)

* * *

Tooru is the wet dream of the media—until he’s not, (but just a little, minuscule bit).

He’s making an interview for some TV show, so he’s sitting on a rather fancy couch as the journalist places the cards on top of her pleated skirt with a smile on her face.

“Now I’m going to ask something everyone has been gossiping about,” she starts, eyeing briefly the camera before staring at Tooru, who stretches his legs and winces slightly at the flash of pain that goes through his body; he forgot his knee supporter at home. “Who conquered the heart of the Great King?”

And they show in the big TV they have in the studio a few of the photos Tooru uploaded to his social media. There’s one picture of Hajime’s study notes on the kitchen table, and another of the breakfast Hajime cooked the morning after he won a practice match against the Germans.

(Tooru is a show-off, what can he say?)

But even if all his fans want to know everything about his love life, and the media doesn’t stop prying into everything, Tooru is firm as a wall.

He won’t give up easily—he’s going to do anything for Iwa-chan.

And it doesn’t matter if he gets hours of mockery from Bokuto (who managed to sneak in the national team) and Kuroo (who still pisses him off at the university).

Tooru loves Iwa-chan _that_ much.

“Do you know who gave me that nickname, though?” Oikawa quirks his eyebrows, inquiring, and purses his lips together, watching the reporter shake her head, confused due to the sudden change of the subject. “It was Shrimpy! Y’know, small, redhead, jumps higher than a kangaroo? That’s him, Hinata. If I’m not wrong, he’s dating Tobio-chan.”

“Are you saying Kageyama Tobio and Hinata Shoyo are dating?”

“Yeah! They’ve been for a long time!” And the reporter follows the conversation, opting for hearing what Tooru knows about Kageyama Tobio, the new promise of the volleyball.

Meanwhile, Iwaizumi is holding back his laugh, two cups of coffee in his hands (one for him and another one for Tooru, because Hajime knows he needs caffeine) and the pass to walk around hanging from his neck.

* * *

(“ _Great King-san, I can’t believe you just sold us to save your ass!!_ ” Shrimpy is screaming on the other side of the call and Tooru grimaces, resting his head on Hajime’s shoulder as the taxi takes them home. “ _I’m gonna throw toilet paper to your house!! And eggs!!_ ”

“Uh, I live in an apartment—”

“ _Shut up, dumbass!_ ” Tobio’s voice sounds near (he’s probably besides Shrimpy) and Oikawa snickers, lacing his fingers with Hajime’s without asking. “ _Don’t worry, Oikawa-san, I was gonna talk about our relationship anyway._ ”

“ _What?? Are you forgiving him?!_ ” Hinata squeaks and Tobio groans.

“ _He didn’t say anything wron—_ ”

“Such a marriage,” he interrupts them, hanging up and laughing until his throat hurts and Hajime jabs him in the ribs.

“Like we’re any better, Shittykawa,” he snarls, but leaves Tooru hug him anyway.)

* * *

Today Tooru has a practice with TouDai’s team and Hajime is watching him from the seats. Kuroo is by his side, claiming that he can’t ever get tired of seeing Koutarou play (and Bokuto is here because his team is practicing against Oikawa’s).

“Can you believe we’ll get out of this thing,” Kuroo says, gesturing around with his hands, probably referring to their universities in general, “in less than a year?”

“Actually no,” Hajime replies, sighing and leaning on the bar that prevents the audience from falling to the court. Tooru sets the ball and one of the players spikes it.

The blasting sound echoes for a second.   

“It feels weird, dude,” Kuroo scowls, running a hand through his black hair, which only ends a lot messier. Hajime snorts.

“You’re so exaggerated.”

“Shut the fuck up, Iwaizumi.” Kuroo, despite the rudeness of the sentence, is smiling. “Oh, right. I know you’ve been busy smothering Oikawa, so I got you this.” Tetsurou searches for something in his backpack before handing Hajime a magazine.

_Volley Today_. Tooru is on the cover.

 _Right_ , he forgot Tooru had an interview the other day and he couldn’t go with him.

 “Thanks,” he mutters, taking it as Kuroo waves a hand, distracted, already concentrated on the game, most precisely on Bokuto, who yells every time he spikes and scores a point.

Instead of reading the rest of the articles—he’s too lazy to do that right now—he jumps to the page that covers Tooru’s interview, and his eyes focus on a part that instantly catches his attention.

 

> **_I:_ ** _Oikawa Tooru-san, our sources say that you rejected another physical therapist. This is the fourth this year! What’s going on?_
> 
> **_OT:_ ** _Well, I just don’t feel like trusting my health to anyone._
> 
> **_I:_ ** _Do you already have a physical therapist?_
> 
> **_OT:_ ** _Not really! […] But if I get one, it’d be a secret! After all, they’d see all of me!_
> 
> **_I:_ ** _That sounded oddly suggestive, Oikawa Tooru-san!_
> 
> **_OT:_ ** _It is true, though! […] I’m not interested in having a therapist. I’m fine with the little help I already have._

Hajime knows Tooru so well, that he can tell with his answers that he wasn’t comfortable at all—he was probably tired because of his finals.

His stomach clutches tightly.

“You’re such a good boyfriend, Iwaizumi,” Kuroo mumbles quietly. “I can see how bad you feel, but you already do a lot.”

“It’s not enough.”

“Tell that to Koutarou. We’ve been dating for three years and we still have problems communicating. It’s fucking okay.”

Hajime returns the magazine and his eyes focus on Tooru, who makes his team work like a greased machine— efficient and lethal.

It’s been a while since he spiked for Tooru.

His boyfriend seems to feel his gaze on him and turns around, smiling widely and waving at Hajime, excited, with his callused hands covered in band-aids.

 _I just don’t feel like trusting my health to anyone_.

Maybe it is okay, after all.         

* * *

This time, at the 'International Tournament Basically No One Sees' (Iwa-chan has names for _everything_ ), people recognize him.

It’s a funny feeling, because a year ago no one knew his name and now everyone is chasing him, asking questions, trying to pry into his private life, wondering which one is his favorite coffee.

But he isn’t listening to the girls that exclaim his name with excitement and doesn’t pay attention to the cameras’ flashes.

All of his senses are on the game, on what his teammates are doing, on what his adversaries are doing, on what the referee is saying.

That’s why he isn’t very surprised when a player of the other team approaches fast to him; he saw the guy clenching his fists and heard him cursing.

He expects to be yelled and pushed.

But instead the man kicks him in the knee without thinking twice, already swallowed by his anger—because he’s a blocker, he’s supposed to stop everything and Oikawa scored anyway.

The flash of pain comes immediately, blinding him for a moment—and that’s when his teammates react, pushing the guy away and throwing insults.

The referee blows his whistle and the audience is loud, voicing their indignation, but Tooru perceives a voice over the others—louder, more worried and angrier.

Hajime, the one who always sits besides the coach at the wooden benches, hugs him and doesn’t seem to care that Tooru is curled on the floor holding his knee closely.

“Tooru, breathe,” Hajime whispers in his ear and Tooru lets out the air he didn’t know he was holding. “I’m here.”

The pain leaves as Hajime calms him down—his teammates sigh in relief, probably because they also know how much Iwaizumi means to him—and his grip on Hajime’s shoulder slowly goes soft.

“I’m ‘kay now,” Tooru says and Hajime smiles, tucking his arms under Tooru and carrying his boyfriend, even when Oikawa is a few centimeters taller. “Hajime, you’re embarrassing me.”

“Shut up.” Hajime frowns, but it doesn’t last too long, since he leans over to kiss Tooru’s cheek. “I’m fucking tired of hearing how you supposedly have threesomes with Bokuto and Kuroo.”

Tooru laughs, disappearing with Hajime behind the door of the changing rooms, and laughs even harder when the sea of reporters tries to enter too.

“Are you jealous, Hajime?”

“Like hell I am. Geez, I fucking hate the media.”

* * *

(After a few interviews, where maybe people questioned a little bit more than necessary, nobody asks about Tooru’s romantic life again, unless they want to hear him talking about how 'absolutely pretty Iwa-chan is when he’s cooking breakfast' or that 'he’s super adorable when he gets embarrassed' for hours.

The reporters have patience— _they deal with politicians, dammit!_ —, but Oikawa Tooru is a challenge they don’t want to take.

At least Iwaizumi keeps him under control and gives them a consolatory pat in the back, along with a steaming cup of tea or coffee if he can, almost like an apology.

“He likes to brag about me, but he’s really sweet once you really know him,” he says, once the interview is over, to the reporter who endured through thirty minutes of Oikawa rambling about his boyfriend.

Iwaizumi, with his hands in the pockets of his jacket, sighs before Oikawa pops out from nowhere, embarrassed and blushed to the tip of his ears.

“That’s so sweet from you, Iwa-chan!”

“Shut up.”

“Okay, sorry.”

“We’re going to eat ramen later.”

“Yay!”

And the reporter stays in silence, watching the couple bicker in their way towards the exit, thinking that having something like what those two have is something near to impossible.)

 

**Author's Note:**

> _when someone likes u but u don’t know what to do and u write gay fanfiction to feel better w/ urself #justmethings_
> 
>  
> 
> and if you excuse me, i'll see the outlast video with dan and phil and i'll get scared the shit outta me thanks to dan's screams, see ya at the percabeth i'll post in three centuries~  
>  
> 
>  


End file.
